


Implied

by BadWolf303 (orphan_account)



Series: Nobody said it was easy. [2]
Category: NCIS
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-24 05:39:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6143245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/BadWolf303
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Of all the things she thought this night would hold, a conversation about Shannon, a conversation where Gibbs is actually talking, was not one of them." Kibbs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Implied

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anotherthief](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherthief/gifts), [flootzavut](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flootzavut/gifts).



She wakes to an empty bed.

It’s not unusual; as a matter of fact she has come to expect it. The sheets linger with his heat, with the scent of sawdust and bourbon and coffee and _him_. Ever since squeezing her way into his bed (and into his life) she’s fallen asleep wrapped up in him (surrounded by him, tightly pressed into his chest) and woken up without him.

He doesn’t sleep well, doesn’t like to sleep much at all, and she’s long since given up on taking offense when he leaves her for his boat. He wouldn’t be Gibbs if he didn’t, and she wouldn’t be his Katie if tried to change him. They’ve talked around the subject of Shannon. She’s managed to get him to show her pictures of Kelly. But old habits die hard, and old demons even harder. And she doesn’t love him for who he could be, but for who he is.

She loves him, loves Leroy Jethro Gibbs, completely.

Not that she’s told _him_ that yet, of course.

But none of that matters to her right now. Her pillow is damp from the cold sweat that covers her skin, and Ari is in her mind and behind her eyelids and _tingling, itching, burning_ throughout her body. It was not Gibbs but Ari who surrounded her, who pressed into her, whose voice whispered in her ear and claimed her for his own: _Caitlin_.

She knows it was a dream, knows Ari is dead. Ziva shot him and he died, two stories below where she is right this minute, right below her. Right by Gibbs and his boat and his world in his basement.

But she can feel him, hear him, and – god damn it – _smell_ him. She’s alone in this bed with Ari lingering around her, and she doesn’t have a gun under her pillow here, she doesn’t have the protection of Gibbs’ arms either.

She can’t breathe. Or maybe she can but it’s hard to, her lungs burn and her ribs hurt, even though they’ve been healed for weeks now and haven’t bothered her since. They hurt anyway, the pain starting from her chest and spreading out through her limbs like fire.

She doesn’t remember moving, but she’s standing on his basement stairs in his undershirt and her panties, her feet cold on the wooden step, her hand griping the banister as she gasps and gulps for air.

Gibbs climbs the stairs two at a time to meet her at the middle, and he’s speaking but she can’t hear him. She can barely focus on his mouth as it moves; she can’t look into his clear blue eyes. He grabs her chin.

“You can’t just _leave_ me there!” The words come from part of her brain she has no control over. “You can’t _do_ that to me! Please don’t do that to me.”

They’re standing on the stairs and she’s shaking and screaming at him, and she finally sees his eyes and they look outright _terrified_ , and she starts to cry. What are his rules? Is crying a sign of weakness? Will he push her out of his beloved basement so she doesn’t ruin the space with it?

She’s in his arms. He’s nudging her legs to wrap around his waist, and he’s walking backwards down the stairs. She’s vaguely aware of how dangerous this is, and a quick mental image of him tripping backwards and taking her, shaking and snotty and unable to breathe with him is enough to make her start laughing. Which makes breathing even more difficult, and makes Gibbs hold tighter, look even more afraid.

He collapses back into a chair, keeping her wrapped around him like a monkey as he strokes her hair and whispers into her ear. “ _Breathe in deep, Katie. That’s it, breathe out. Inhale deep. Exhale._ ”

When she’s no longer hyperventilating, he stands, her feet hitting the floor on trembling legs. He keeps his arms around her waist for support, but gently leads her over to his boat. He places the sanding tool into her hands, keeping his wrapped around hers as they start to move. “Go with the grain, Katie. There you go. This always calms me down.”

They sand in silence. She does start to calm down, but she doesn’t have the heart to tell him that it has nothing to do with sanding a boat and everything to do with his body, solid and strong, against her. “I dreamt of him. Of Ari.”

“He’s dead, Kate.”

She spins around to face him, pinned between him and his boat. “I _know_ that.”

He studies her. His fingers dig into her waist almost painfully, as if she might float away if he gives even an inch. “What’s going on? You practically reamed Ziva out at work today for no reason, and now you’re having nightmares about Ari. You wanna tell me what that’s about?”

She scoffs. “Apples and oranges. What happened with Ziva has nothing to do with Ari and everything to do with her not following protocol.”

“Ziva was trained differently than you, Kate. She’s only officially been with us a couple of months,” Gibbs says with laughter in his voice that makes her scowl. “She’s gotta learn. Just like you did, Secret Service.”

“Why do you care so much about her?” She wasn’t expecting to say _that_ , and based on the way his eyebrows disappear into his hairline, he wasn’t either.

“She’s my agent.”

“ _I’m_ your agent.” She sounds petulant, even to her own ears. But she’s standing in his shirt and her underwear, barefoot in his basement against his boat with his arms around her after having a panic attack on his stairs, after waking up alone in his bed. She’s vulnerable, and she lets him, _makes_ him, see it.

He tugs her so hard she trips over her feet, fumbling into his space as he bores down on her. She couldn’t look away from his gaze if she tried. “You are so much more than that, Kate,” he breathes, the words washing over her face.

“Then why do you always leave me alone in that bed? And why, when I think we’re actually getting somewhere with this relationship, or whatever it is, I feel you pulling away? Why do you always take Ziva’s side over mine?” She’s crying again. He cups his hands on her cheeks, and the tears drip over them. “Why do you let him take me? Why does he always still take me?”

Gibbs kisses her. It is rough, and strong, and gentle, and soft. It is angry, and scared, and loving. It is all the things she feels and he feels and they feel together. She pulls away with a sob, but he doesn’t relent, pulling her back into his chest and holding on tightly. “He doesn’t have you. He does not have you, do you hear me? _I_ have you. _I have you right here._ ”

She pulls away and wraps her arms protectively around herself, her eyes finding the place where Ari died. Where Ziva shot him and he bled out. If you know where to look (and she does, of course she does) you can just about see where his blood stained the floor. Gibbs follows her gaze. “He’s dead. He’s dead, and I care about Ziva because she shot her half brother to protect me. She shot Ari and you’re safe from him now because of it. She’s a good agent, Kate. She damn near has enough potential to match you. And she’s been hurt and she’s been used, and I refuse to waste that potential. We don’t waste good, Kate. That’s a damn rule.”

“I see Ari when I look at her.” Kate’s whispered confession echoes throughout the basement 

“You don’t trust her,” Gibbs says, his eyebrows pinching together as he figures out the pieces to the puzzle that is his team. “I can’t send you both out into the field together if you don’t trust her. I can’t lose either of you to that.”  
  
“I…” Kate doesn’t know how much she can admit in one night. How much she can say before he realizes she is weak and she is not special, she is not the agent or person he thinks she is or he thinks he wants. “I want to. I know she’s great, Gibbs. I’ve watched her. Probably closer than a teammate should. I know what she can do, and I know how fiercely she does it. She balances out Tony in a way I’ve never seen before. She’s sweet with McGee. And she wants to make you proud, I can see it.”

He nods encouragingly. Patiently. “But?”

“I couldn’t stab Ari. I misjudged him and almost lost everything because of it.”

“You think Ziva—“

“No.” She’s quick to interrupt before he can suggest it. “No, I really don’t. But I look at her and I see Ari.”

He takes a deep breath, his eyes falling to his feet before closing them and breathing in a second time. When he exhales, he opens his eyes and she’s startled to find them glistening. “Sometimes, when I look at you I see Shannon.”

The air _whooshes_ out from her lungs.

He grabs her hands. To keep her steady or keep her from hitting him, she’s not sure. “Not always. Not often. Not…not in a way that confuses me. But the other day you hummed while pouring your coffee. Shannon used to hum every morning. Things like that.”

He releases one of her hands to rub his against his face, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment to try and hold the tears at bay. Kate watches him with wide eyes, unable to speak, barely able to breathe. Of all the things she thought this night would hold, a conversation about Shannon, a conversation where Gibbs is actually _talking_ , was not one of them.

“Sometimes it terrifies me. Three ex wives later, and you’re the first to really…” His voice cracks and he clears his throat. “The what ifs could keep a person up all night.”

“Working on their boat?” she ventures.

He smiles, tears pooling in his eyes. “I don’t love that boat more than you, Katie.”

Tears continue to fall from her own eyes without restraint. She tries _so hard_ not to smile, not to spook him from his confession.

She fails, she can’t help it. She smiles anyway.

“I mean what that implied,” he says with a laugh, scratching at the back of his head and almost looking god damn _sheepish_ about it.

“In that case,” she says, an actual smile on her face for the first time that night. Maybe that entire day. “I imply it, too.”

“I need to do better,” he says. It’s not a question. It is actually a sad resigned statement that makes her ache and fills her with relief all at once. “I need to be better.”

She brings her finger to his mouth. “You do not need to change. I just need you in this with me. I need to know that…”

“You need to know that I imply it.”

God help her, she laughs. A tear, or what would be a tear if Gibbs would give in and let them actually fall, hits his cheek, and she reaches up to wipe it away. Even though she has about a dozen down her own face. “God, we’re a pair.”

“But we _are_ a pair, Kate.”

They haven’t qualified it. At work, he’s her boss, and she’s his agent. And at home they just let it be. He hasn’t called her his girlfriend; she hasn’t called him her boyfriend. She hasn’t asked him to define what they are, and he hasn’t asked her if she’ll really be his for as long as he’ll let her. They haven’t told anyone.

She’s almost positive Tony knows. He smirks at her sometimes, when Gibbs’ hand lingers a little too long on her arm. Abby has outright asked, on more than one occasion, and Kate has skirted around the issue best she could without giving too much away (she wonders how Gibbs handles their little curious scientist, if he does any better). Ducky even gives them knowing smiles.

But they haven’t confirmed it. Not to anyone, and not to themselves.

He’s implying a lot this evening.

“You’re exhausted. Lets get you back to bed,” he says, the rough pads of his thumbs brushing against her cheekbones.

She hesitates, tenses even. He must feel it, see it. Or maybe he just knows her well enough now to have sensed it. He pulls her back in against her, ducking his head to brush his lips against her hair, against her forehead, and when she looks up, against her lips. “I’ll be there this time. When you wake up,” he says.

She nods against his chest. “I won’t hum in the kitchen anymore.”

“Yes you will,” he says with a shrug. “And you can.” 

“You can work on your boat when you can’t sleep,” she counters.

He nods, sighing into her hair. “But I’ll be there when you need me to be.”

She stands on her tiptoes to kiss him. She misses, and gets his chin instead. He laughs, leaning down to peck at her nose before giving her what she wants and kissing her properly.

“I need you to be tonight,” she says.

He takes her hand, leading her towards the stairs. “Then I will be.”

In his bed, she falls asleep, once again, in his arms. When the sun shines through the window in the morning (reminding her that she needs to buy him curtains), he’s still there. Where she needs him to be.


End file.
